


Sixteen

by procellous



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 08:18:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2060781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/procellous/pseuds/procellous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or; dreams don't always come true.</p>
<p>the last six years of Jason Todd's life</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sixteen

You’re nine when your dad leaves. He’s probably working for a criminal, or just stealing something as usual.

He doesn’t say goodbye, and you tell yourself you don’t care.

He doesn’t come back.

You’re ten and a half when you start getting desperate. There’s no more furniture in the house, you sold it all to buy food and pay rent. Stealing’s been keeping you alive since you sold off the last chair, but it’s getting harder and harder to pay the rent and to buy food and medicine – your mom’s getting sick. Something’s got to give, or the two of you won’t last much longer.

So you do. It hurts, at first, but you keep quiet and when your mom asks about the bruises – you lie.

You’re eleven when your mom dies. You’ve been keeping her alive for two years, supporting her by stealing, mostly. You had bought her medicine, food, and she had just gotten sicker.

You blame yourself. If you had been better, or stronger, if you had just gotten her more food, or better food, or more medicine – you might not be alone.

You’re thirteen when the Batmobile is right in front of you, with tires that would get you a fortune. You’ve gotten three of them off when you hear someone coming, and you hide.

You’re caught when you’re about to get the fourth off, and your life changes.

You’re thirteen when you gain another name – Robin. And it’s like magic. Bruce is nice, Alfred is kind, and your life is looking up for the first time in what feels like forever.

You’re fifteen when your life turns on its head once again – your mom, the one you gave nearly _everything_ for, is your step-mom. You go to find your mom, your other mom. She’s in Ethiopia, Dr. Sheila Haywood, and so is the Joker.

You’re fifteen when you sit, in pain and scared – not that you’d ever show it – against the warehouse wall, seeing the bomb and knowing without needing to be told that you’re never getting out. Not alive.

You’ll never turn sixteen, never talk to that cute girl behind you in English class again, never grow up, never fly, never ever ever make Bruce or Dick laugh and make Alfred smile, never slide down the bannisters in Wayne Manor, never laugh or smile or fight again.

And you have just enough time to resign yourself to this when you hear the rumble of Bruce’s engines, just enough time to think – _he’ll get here before the bomb explodes_ –

And then you die, fifteen years old with hope and faith bitter in your heart.


End file.
